


like a string drawn taut

by LunarNimbus



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Canon Universe, F/M, One Shot, Potential Spoilers, Pre-Canon, Season 3 Spoilers, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 09:31:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13831350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunarNimbus/pseuds/LunarNimbus
Summary: Something in Lucifer uncoiled, slow and sleepy and wholly instinctual, and reached out to her.Based on "City of Angels?" (3x11).





	like a string drawn taut

He really could get used to this.

Lucifer Morningstar looked out over the crowd, bouncing and yelling under dimmed lights as they cheered on the two lithe wrestlers fighting in the center of the room. The air was filled with the scent of sweat and adrenaline and greed, and it pressed heavy on him like fog. 

_Humans really are something,_ he thought. His dark, dark eyes skimmed across the surface of the crowd, taking in the wide, crazy grins of the fans. _I suppose when death is inevitable - oh, mortality, the horror of the ultimate, irreversible ending - they want to pack each day to the brim with indulgences, fulfilling their desires._

And did the humans of L.A. ever _want._

It didn’t matter if it was drugs, money, a fuck, or a fight; here in the City of the Angels, you could get anything you wanted with delicious ease. Decadence and impulsivity and desire, so much damn desire the air was thick with it. It hung over the city, thick as pollution. 

He took a deep breath and grinned widely. What a lovely cesspool of a place. 

Lucifer was vaguely aware of Amenadiel’s brooding presence next to him, but the Devil was too caught up in the spectacle unfolding on the ground floor - oh, that wrestler would feel that hit in the morning - to pay his brother much mind, stolen necklace be damned. 

“So what’s the plan?” Amenadiel said from beside him, tone short and on edge. No surprise, really; the angel never was comfortable around humans. Too loud for him, Lucifer imagined. Too much. 

Lucifer was on the verge of answering his brother when he felt it. 

Something deep inside the cage of his ribs stirred, uncoiling and stretching out languorously, and a confused look fell over his face. This was entirely new. 

The stirring thing was slow and sleepy and wholly instinctual, tugging on the very edge of his awareness. As he examined it with his mind’s eye, he felt it reach, grasp with wispy fingers at something to his left. When the thread’s reach apparently came up short, it keened miserably, and a fiercely hollow ache bloomed in Lucifer’s chest. 

Lucifer’s brow furrowed. What was going on? It was as though something in him was calling out to something.

Movement out of the corner of his eye: a slim figure in a black jacket. 

Calling out ( _craving, longing_ ) for someone?

“Lucifer!” Amenadiel’s voice cut through Lucifer’s confusion, and Lucifer turned to look at his brother. This time the angel’s voice was sharp, each word enunciated carefully. “What’s the plan?”

“I-” Lucifer began, the word barely more than air, the rest of his reply caught behind his teeth. 

Footsteps sounded from behind him, and the Devil turned in time to watch the woman - slender, hair pulled back in a low ponytail, shoulders drawn back and standing tall - descend the stairs to the ground level. She turned her head to look out over the writhing crowd, and he made out the barest sliver of a tanned, sleek face. His hand fell from the railing and dropped to his side, fingers loose and palm empty.

Then she disappeared into the crowd and the stirring thing coiled back up in his ribcage, drawing back until he could barely feel it. The feeling slackened and the hollowness behind his sternum deepened, then closed up. 

“The plan is to get a drink,” Lucifer he said at last, tearing his gaze away from where the woman had been and flashing a gleaming smile at Amenadiel. “Can’t think when I’m sober.”

Lucifer clapped the angel on the shoulder and moved past him, cutting behind his back. His smile held steady as he strode towards another set of stairs, but he still felt faintly rattled. There was a looming sense of just missing something, of letting something important slip through his fingertips, of missing an opportunity for something great. 

He swallowed the feeling and pushed it away, pushed it down until he could barely feel it. Hell, it was as though it had never been there in the first place. 

It was what he was good at, after all. When it came to ignoring unwanted things, he was a professional. 

_Are you sure it’s unwanted?_

Lucifer pushed the stubborn thought down, buried it, and forgot all about it. 

Mostly.

* * *

The second time he felt it stir, he was on a stakeout. 

Lucifer leaned against the thick metal pillar, keeping his eyes on the lockers across the grass. His cheek smarted, and so did his pride. Damn his holier-than-thou brother, who at least sported his own assortment of bruises and cuts. Served the bastard right. 

Amenadiel was getting impatient, speaking in short, clipped sentences. He wanted to get his necklace back and hightail it out of here, said they had been in L.A. (among the humans, he really meant) for too long. Lucifer could sense his brother’s wings, hidden on another plane, twitching in annoyance even as his body stood perfectly still. 

The brothers watched Tio drop off a duffel bag, presumably full of money ( _the things humans will do for money_ , Lucifer thought. _It’s magnificent_ ). Then they waited. 

As Lucifer watched the lockers absently, the feeling from before tugged at the edge of his mind. This time it was much lighter, just the barest brush against his awareness, and the Devil was able to keep his face schooled and unaffected. 

The feeling tugged, faint but insistent, trailing away from him, reaching out towards something (someone) he couldn’t see. 

_Why now?_ he wondered, rubbing his pointer finger with the pad of his thumb in an effort to dispel the unsettled feeling that pooled in his gut. The feeling was new and frightening, and, if he was being honest, he almost liked it. It frightened him - or it would, if the Devil could feel fear. 

And then Gil from the gym walked up to the lockers, nonchalant and looking as though he had nary a care in the world as he drew out the money-laden duffel bag, and Lucifer’s attention was entirely diverted. The stirring feeling vanished, forgotten. 

Much later, Lucifer told himself he didn’t notice its absence. He told himself it didn’t hurt at all.

* * *

The third time marked the beginning of his undoing. 

He was thinking of poor, sweet, murdered Delilah as he sat at the piano in the middle of Lux. His long fingers moved over the keys, occasionally leaving his left hand to play alone as he wrapped his right around the tumbler of whiskey sitting atop the instrument. He was thinking about the man who shot her, the man with the expensive watch, the man whose soul was surely suffering in Hell. 

The whiskey burned down his throat and he smiled wickedly. 

And then: footsteps on the stairs and that odd tugging feeling again. Lucifer raised his gaze from the keys and froze.

When she walked into the room, it was like a string drew taut between them. 

He watched her, entranced, as she made her way down the stairs. He could feel the stirring thing uncoil, snakelike and lazy, before it snapped to attention. It crooned at the sight of her, reaching desperately for the woman even as she walked towards the Devil with quick, sure steps. 

As she approached, Lucifer hastily swept aside the whisper of _oh, it’s you_ in his ear. The Devil did not _feel_ \- not like that, anyway. He lusted and coveted and desired, that was it. The Devil most certainly did not _yearn._

Detective Decker was beautiful, of course, with guarded blue-green eyes and a feline-like beauty, the sharp planes of her face framed with soft, waved hair that spilled over her shoulders. She was beautiful, yes, but there was something else, something of the light about her, something pure and good and warm and just out of reach.

“D’you know, you look familiar,” Lucifer asked her mid-interview, drowning in the way the light caught her eyes. “Have we met before?”

He meant it, too; something about her face tugged at his memory. But - again, he must be honest; the Devil did not lie - that wasn’t the whole story. Something in his very being called out to her like she was something familiar, something precious; it was as though he’d been looking for something and never knew until she walked into the heart of Lux. 

Now, looking up at her under the dimmed lights of Lux, he could tell by the set of her shoulders and the line of her jaw that she was going to be insufferable, getting underfoot and caught up in the red-tape of morality and protocol, and his eyes glimmered with glee.

Hours, days from now, he will gaze into her clear eyes and she will resist his God-given gift without batting an eye. How interesting, how _fascinating_ , and in one fell swoop the Devil will be ensnared by this feisty, determined human. The Devil has always been a sucker for a challenge. 

Days, weeks, months from now, when his life and hers are entangled, he will know she is so much more.


End file.
